


Games We Play

by Falconette



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: F/M, Lemon, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 19:17:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1699577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Falconette/pseuds/Falconette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bertl has a secret lover. And a secret.  (SPOILER ALERT)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Games We Play

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilerish, so if you haven’t caught up with manga (ch. 42 in particular), it would be good to steer clear of this story until you do.
> 
>  
> 
> As for others who will read on...
> 
> I was thinking about how the titans cannot experience lovemaking while in their titan (true?) form, so they have to feel the most like humans when they do the dirty. Right?

 

 

**Games we play**

  
„We cannot do this anymore.“ was the first thing Berthold said when entered the room and hastily closed the door behind him.  
  
Sitting on a bed in the darkened room, you slowly put the book you were reading down, trying not to show your annoyance at him being late. You have been through this conversation before, so you patiently prepared yourself to go through the motions. By the way he fumbled with the latch before he properly fastened it, you could tell he was highly strung so you kept your voice as calm as possible “What happened this time Bertl?”  
  
The tall youth turned around on his heel, the green eyes restless and face stern, but after seeing you his expression softened. His gaze on you didn’t linger, though. “People are starting to talk.” he offered an explanation, striding towards you and sitting on the floor with his back against the bed and the knees hitched up between him and the world. The short hair above his ear was plastered to his skin with sweat.  
  
“So let them talk.” you said dismissively, slid down next to him and put your hand over his. You wondered how much time you had before you both had to return to your duties. You wondered long would it take to get his mind off these things this time. ”There is nothing wrong with a soldier seeing a member of the staff as long as it doesn’t diminish the performance. It has happened before, Berthold.”  
  
He cast a sideways glance at you, inquisitive and unreadable, and you endured its weight, caressing the back of his palm with your fingertips. This, too, has happened before. Couple of moments passed before you felt his fingers close around yours, his anxiety giving way to your touch. His head sunk and shoulders slumped as he sat cross-legged on the floor and let out a deep sigh. “I know, it’s just that I feel everybody’s eyes on us. Can’t they mind their own business!?”  
  
You silently kneeled in front of him, tenderly squeezed two fistfuls of his dark hair and pressed his forehead against your chest. There was no better way of calming him down when he got like this. He did gradually relax, lulled by your heartbeat. Eventually, his arms reached up and limply entwined around your waist.  
  
“I missed you.” his voice was deep and calm, resonating through your chest. He shifted to take a fleeting look at you, then hugged you close again with more emotion. “We will not be able to do this when I go away.” you heard him mumble from where his face was buried in your neck.  
  
“Where would you go?” you embraced him more firmly, sliding your nails up and down his spine the way he liked, melting his front. And so the old dance continued. Steps were known and followed, the words were meaningless.  
  
“Back home.” he said hollowly, your hand taking away the bitter edge off his words. He inadvertently arched his back like a cat for you to get a better angle at reaching down his spine. You took great care to feel each groove where individual vertebrae joined with tendons to form a powerful dorsal muscle on each side, like a pair of wings across his broad back.  
  
“Can’t I go with you?” you inquired with a smile, already knowing what he would say.  
  
“Others would never accept you.” Berthold’s voice was distant, as always when he talked about his village. Not that you ever expected to see it. Besides, it was buried deep within the enemy territory and the chances of ever winning it back were slim. You loosened his waistcoat and slid it over his head, relishing in the better feel of his rippling back under your fingertips. You longed to sense the skin beneath.  
  
“How can you be so sure?” you asked, half-interested, lost cause or not. “What are they like?” He never answered that question and you decided not to press the issue further. Instead, you started to loosen his uniform and undress. Time was something you did not have in abundance and you wanted to make the best of here and now. “Can you help me with this?” you tugged at his boot.  
  
“My people are different.” Berthold’s voice surprised you after you peeled his boots off and discarded them with the rest of the clothes scattered over the floor. His gaze was now fixed upon you, unwavering, the pulled shades making his skin even darker, bringing out the emerald gleam of his orbs. The look that made you shudder with unease and craving at the same time, every time. You were about to open your mouth but his slender fingers were suddenly pressed against your lips, his expression stern, nonnegotiable. Then his eyes slid across your body as if he had only noticed you were both naked, slowly and purposely following the curves of your body and a familiar shine kindled in them.  
  
“This is wrong.” a barely audible whisper flowed over his quivering lips, as if he was berating himself. Of its own will, his other hand reached out and traced the finely arched muscle of your neck, trembling while sliding across your skin, touching as for the first time. He always started out like that, like he needed to remember what it was like to feel you, to pass the point of no return to give in to desire.  
  
You knew he was going to lose it any moment now and you closed your eyes, already biting your lip in sweet anticipation. He hasn’t kept you waiting for long. His fingers cupped your face, small in his big hands, and pressed his lips against yours without a warning. His tongue barged in without asking for permission and if it wasn’t for his other hand holding the back of your head, you both would have toppled over. Berthold held you possessively, like a doll in his lanky arms, smacking his lips and sliding his tongue hungrily over your face, neck, bust, circling around your nipples until they were painfully erect and dripping with saliva. You let the protective but firm embrace rock you back and forth, relishing in the strength of the male body that cradled you so tenderly and with such ease.  
  
You heard he was like this on the battlefield too, shy, reluctant and in the background most of the time, but relentless and fierce when pressed. If they only knew what you know.  
  
You found his lips and kissed him back, squirming in his arms, seeking places on his skin you could frantically caress, dig your nails in, push away and pull in again, sliding your palms across his wide chest, raking through his hair, biting on his lips so hard they bled. The metallic taste in his mouth only made him kiss you harder, deeper, pressing your mouth tighter to his with his hand on the nape of your neck.  Everywhere you touched - taut skin, firm muscle and hard bone - immaculately melted into each other to form a graceful and powerful body of a warrior. You could feel the emptiness inside your lower belly that ached to be filled, to be joined with him, more and more with each caress of his hands that gripped your skin more desperately in each sweep.  
  
It was then you opened your eyes and pulled his head up again, your palms on the sides of his face, the sweat trickling between your fingers. The green eyes on his dark face, a cat’s eyes, a beast’s eyes, leveled with yours with a tinge of irritation for being interrupted during a meal, his back hunched and chest heaving.  
  
“Do you still think this is wrong?” you panted, longing to bite into the pumped muscle that connected his shoulder to his neck and fighting the urge. “Do you still want to listen to what other people say?”  
  
Berthold shook his head emphatically, violently enough to shake off your hands. He didn’t look away, every trace of shyness or insecurity evaporated from his gaze.  
  
“This,” he clenched his right fist over his pounding chest in a mock salute, “is not real.”  
  
“This,” with a vehement movement, Berthold’s mouth melted with yours in a fierce kiss, “is more real than the fighting, the dying or the right or wrong debate. Whether I like it or hate it,” he bared his teeth in a feral expression, steaming beads of sweat on his skin giving him a demonic aura “I can’t deny it.”  
  
“Make me feel real.” he said in a husky voice that unnervingly resembled a low growl, “I need to feel… everything.”  
  
Taken aback by his intensity, you could sense the butterflies of lust flutter madly inside your stomach.  
  
“Yes.” your own voice sounded hoarse and overwhelmed with desire. “Yes!”    
  
Still sitting with his legs crossed, he then pulled you on top of him, pressing your belly against his. The skin on skin sensation was always the most intimate and you both stood still for a moment, experiencing the flood of feelings. Berthold’s skin was slick and radiating heat, calling for rubbing and cuddling against it so that is what you did, the friction between you only making the places where you touched hotter. His fingers left scorching trails on your back, his tongue cooling the playful bite marks his teeth left on your skin. His need was immediate, you could tell he would not be able to hold back any longer.  
  
“I want to…” he pleaded agonizingly, nibbling distractedly on your nipple. You responded by straddling him and slowly sliding his shaft inside as you sat cross-legged on his lap. He moaned and thrust his hips forward, making you take him in his full length. Impatiently, his hands slid down your waist and around your buttocks, effortlessly picking you up and lowering you down again and again, the voracious hunger dictating his pace.  
  
The dazed look in his eyes told you he was close, so you grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked at it, not too gently, to get his attention.  
  
“Please… not yet….” you softly moaned in his ear and his hips unwillingly stopped moving, waiting for the tide of near-orgasmic pleasure to pass through him. The green eyes were focused again, taking you in beneath dark eyebrows. Even now, when they were displaying trust and caring, you couldn’t see through them. He held onto you, the warm palms pleasantly cupping your buttocks in a perfect fit, and rested his chin on your shoulder.  
  
“Take your time. I want to feel it all.”  
  
You started slowly gyrating your hips in accord with pulses of pleasure firing through your nerve ends, arching and relaxing your back and belly muscles in turn, building up the tension inside. The rhythmic movements were driving him close to the edge but he persevered, giving out an occasional deep grunt and a strained frown between kisses. Your pace quickened and you closed your eyes, nearing your release, forgetting yourself. The smell of his skin so close to you, the salty sweat under your tongue and the dark eyelashes that tickled your lips pushed you faster and faster towards the climax and when it came, Berthold’s arms instinctively pulled your trembling body closer to his. His hips made a few quick thrusts, all hesitation vanished, and he came, with his lips pressed to your forehead to suppress the moan of relief building up in his throat.  
  
You remained in the tight embrace, simmering from the intense physical activity, your face pressed against his collarbone, the weight of his arms pleasant and warm across your shoulders and back. The lethargy that engulfed you took you halfway to sleep, your lover’s body a cozy vessel for the cruise towards the dreamland. Somewhere, in the distance, you sensed his hand move and start patiently untangling your wet hair. He would do this for a long time, until your hair was dry and neatly slicked back and the sweat gone from your bodies. He wouldn’t let you move away and see his face before that. He never did. He would then help you dress and sit and talk to you holding your hand, but his gazes will become fleeting again and he will not be able to hold the eye contact. He will have a hard time parting from you, but the next time you meet him in the corridors, he will just nervously nod his head in your direction, the green eyes darting to spy the onlookers. And he will come to you again with a new drama when he stops feeling alive, to rekindle the feeling, to escape.  
  
But until then, you will hold him close and enjoy the lulling feeling of his long, delicate fingers combing through your locks. You didn’t need to know everything.  
  
“How will I leave this behind?” Berthold mouthed in a quiet, thin voice that didn’t match his frame, but it was the voice he used to berate himself so you pretended not to hear. Instead, you followed the long ago established steps, staying true to the unspoken rules.  
  
“Don’t you have to go?” the bustle from outside your windows reminded you there was still a world there, waiting.  
  
“Yes,” for some reason you couldn’t fathom, the voice from somewhere above your head was trembling with tears, “soon.”  
  
One of them dropped on your shoulder blade and left a long, scorching its trail down your back, impossibly hot. You gritted your teeth and pressed your head harder against Berthold’s skin. You didn’t want to know..


End file.
